


Shackles of Fate

by cold_flames



Series: Forging Paths [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Gen, Good Parent Jeralt Reus Eisner, Male My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, byleth tries to save everybody, poor byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22665121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_flames/pseuds/cold_flames
Summary: Byleth tries to master as many weapons as he can in an attempt to save everyone he held dear, and Jeralt notices when he uses a Kingdom lance technique only taught to the knights of the King’s guard.Pre-game events
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Series: Forging Paths [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888996
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	Shackles of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the name of Byleth's mother!!

_Thunk._

An arrow zipped through the air as it landed in the middle of a crudely painted target. Another whizzed by as it pierced the center of the first arrow, and the next in the center of previous arrow. He doesn’t register the whistles of his father’s mercenaries, filled with pride and praise.

Flashes of gold and white filled his vision as his head spun. A draconic roar bellowed from above and its rider rained down hordes of blood-red arrows on their enemies, taking down the mages who shot their spells from a distance. They cut their way through the massive army as the doors to the throne room burst open, along with a whirlwind of beasts and mages, following the songs of their hearts. At the center of it all stood the very core of the war, axe raised in determination, adorned in the scarlet outfit of the Emperor of Adrestia. The quivering axe held strong and true, abandoned for the goddess’ sword when the duo approached, flaring with a divine light from its crest-bearer. Olive-green eyes met teal-coloured ones as they spurred onwards, the promise of a new dawn inches away from reality. A new sun would rise from the shadows to burn down the walls of distrust and war.

_“If I must fall, then let it be by your hand. Your path lies beyond my grave. I wanted to...walk with you...”_

Byleth grunted as his axe cleaved through the air, the sheer force alone throwing the lance to the ground from his opponent’s hands. He missed the way Jeralt stared at his son suspiciously. Byleth had suddenly began training in axes, lance-work and archery, drawing up a meticulous training schedule to fit in training for all three weapons _and_ the sword. Unofficially, he’d also begun learning magic on his own, deep into the night when he thought no one was looking. Though it was beyond possible to try and sneak up on Byleth, friend and foe alike, Jeralt could see the faint glows of his magic circle under the cover of the night. The sparks of elemental spells and shimmer of Faith spells made it impossible for his son to remain unnoticed by him. The boy’s emotionless face had hardened even more with determination.

Torrents of rain showered heavily upon them as walls of soldiers, beast and man alike, clashed blades on the ancient battlefield Seiros once defeated Nemesis on. She stands once more, thousands of years later, golden rapier of her own shining amidst the darkness of the war, alongside the King of Delusion. Dimitri towered over the battlefield, Areadbhar’s orange glow glaring like a beacon in the mist. Soldiers-turned-Demonic-beasts lashed out from his side, trampling as many as they could. _Fitting,_ a dark haired swordsman had sneered, the light of his shield pulsing as he fought. _The boar prince has finally shown his true form._ The flames of Eagle had easily crushed the roaring tides of the lions as the snowy kingdom’s canvas was splattered with blood.

 _“Edelgard…You- I’ll_ kill _you…You monster!” He roared, voice hoarse before a swing of Amyr separated head from neck._

Now, Byleth worked swiftly with his lance, muscles screaming at the rigorous training he had forcefully committed himself to. It didn’t help that his magical training last night had completely exhausted him. He reminded himself of the war, gritted his teeth and forced his body to move. The wooden lance makes contact with his father’s and Byleth gnashed his teeth as his arm trembled when both lances clashed hard. It’s been too long from when he last sparred with Jeralt. Feigning a thrust he tried to finish off with a blow to Jeralt’s side, lance snarling in the air, only to be intercepted by his father. Byleth looked up, eyes widening. He froze slightly and retreated, clutching the weapon in a tight grip.

“Kid…where’d you learn that?” Jeralt questioned, voice eerily soft, and the answer lay on the tip of his tongue. _The King of Faerghus._

The orange light of a lance flashed as the Saviour King slashed and hacked away at the imperial mages. The beating of pegasus wings overhead, galloping of hooves and the sounds of black magic are music to his ears. His sword whipped out, gracefully slicing through the air and lashing at enemies who dared seek a dance. They near the monstrosity that loomed over them like an impending doom, challenging it to keep up with their swift movements. The dagger of courage now deep in the shoulder of the Saviour King is but a small pain to endure compared to the joyous songs of his people.

_“To transform into such a monstrous creature beyond recognition…I have no pity for one such as you. Onward! Everybody, a new dawn awaits us!”_

“Kid,” Jeralt said firmly, gripping the shoulder of his blank-faced son, shaking Byleth out of his thought.s “How did you come across this technique?”

“Learnt it from one of the Kingdom soldiers from our previous mission,” He mumbled, while the child in his mind scoffs. _Lucky save, this time._

Fortunately, Jeralt seemed to accept it, asking to spar with Byleth again soon, chuckling about how much his son had grown up without him knowing. However, the girl in his head continues to prattle on.

_Do have no intention of ever stopping?! I can barely count on my hands and toes how many times you’ve rewound time. You of all people know best that fate cannot be rewritten._

“No,” Byleth growled, taking a swig of cold water from one of water-skins, re-reading the diary cramped with his somewhat neat handwriting, detailing everything that happened from his previous lives. “This time, I’ll walk my own path. I don’t care if I have to break time to do it, I’ll make sure they live through this.”

A day later, Jeralt and Byleth sparred again, beads of sweat trickling down Byleth’s face as he prowled around his father, staying out of range from his lance, looking for an opening. This time the reassuring weight of an iron sword rests in his hand, albeit unbalanced. His own sword, a sliver sword commissioned by his father for him boasted an emerald jewel on its hilt and a matching one on its sheath. The sword had been forged with a slightly longer blade to balance with Byleth’s proportions. Circling his father like a hawk, he waited patiently for his father to make the first move.

And sure enough, Jeralt lunged first and Byleth took the opportunity to duck under the lance, landing fast and swift moves, forcing his father to remain on the defensive. Jeralt blocked attack after attack with a practiced grace and watched his son gradually stop his flurry of strikes. Waiting for Byleth to retreat, he lunged forward and sent his sword flying away into the ground. Unarmed, Byleth dodged the lance once more before swooping in to land a punch on his father’s torso,causing the lance to spiral to the ground.

“Too risk- I yield,” Jeralt grinned, when he sees the dagger gripped in Byleth’s hand, levelled at his throat. “Good move. It leaves your back open to attacks from behind. You might want to work on that.”

Byleth nodded, sheathing his dagger as he returned the fallen weapons to the weapons box.

Wiping his sweat with a towel and throwing one at Byleth, Jeralt eyed his son as they exit the makeshift arena.

“Want to go fishing? Looks like there’s a pretty decent lake nearby full of fish.” He smiled like a fool once more internally when he sees the flicker of light in Byleth’s green-blue eyes. _Damn. Is this what old age does to a person?_

Jeralt sighed when his feet met the cold water of the lake, barely hearing his son’s soft chuckle of amusement whilst letting the line fly as far as it could. Byleth mimicked his movement and casts his line out before taking a seat beside his father.

“Kid, what’s with the new training regime?” He asked casually, and is surprised to see Byleth stiffen for a second before answering.

“Nothing. Felt like I should be doing more.”

Jeralt raised an eyebrow at this, sighing as he looks out at the lake. Their last mission was in the Empire. They’re scheduled for Count Rowe’s in a couple day’s time to wipe out some of the bandits in Rowe territory. His son’s been spending more time in their makeshift training yards than they spend on the road, if that were even possible. Byleth was a natural with his sword. He never needed the extra training. Despite sword-users having disadvantages against certain weapons like the lance, his skills were more than enough to taken them out alone. _Do you think me a fool, kid?_

“Kid. Our last mission was in the Empire. We’re to be in Rowe’s territory by the end of the week. Don’t think I’ve been noticing how you sneak off at night to practice magic in secret. That lance trick from a few days ago is a Kingdom technique only the King’s knights would learn. I know I never taught you that. You don’t need other weapons to get the higher hand on your opponents; you’re strong enough as it is.”

He noted the way Byleth’s shoulders droop as his son kept his hardened gaze on the soothing ripples of the lake.

_But it’s not enough. I wasn’t strong enough to save you! How many times do I have to watch you die while I stand helplessly at the sidelines?!_

“Kid. What happened?”

 _You absolute imbecile! Why did you say that out loud?!_ The girl in his head scolded, but Byleth could care less. How many times had he rewound time? He’d seen his students fight with him, for him, against him. He’d seen his students die before his very eyes, no look of resentment in their bright eyes as death marched forward swiftly to claim them with the orange glow of the Sword of the Creator. He’d seen the bloody massacre of the battle at Gronder more times than he could count. He’s seen the Master Tactician out-matched when strength triumphed against wit, the Delusional King finally fell prey to his living nightmares and the Flame Emperor extinguished by the calm tides of the ocean. He’s seen the flocks of dragons rise once more, the pride of the Nabatea.

“Byleth.”

At this, Byleth flinched. Jeralt rarely called him by the name given to him at birth. It wasn’t that he hated his child, but even after twenty-one years, his wife’s face never ceased to appear on his son’s blank countenance whenever he looked at Byleth. To look at the son of himself and his deceased wife, who bore no resemblance to him and call him the name she’d already given him before birth was too much for him. Byleth was the living replica of a male Sitri, and it was hard enough for Jeralt to look into those blue-green eyes without Sitri’s gentle smile appearing before him.

“Kid, what happened to you?” _You talk like a man whose been hardened and shaped by war, and lost it._

Jeralt watched Byleth chuckle emptily, and a nasty cold shiver travelled up his neck. “Father…would you believe me if I told you I could rewind time?” 

“How many times?”

Byleth blinked owlishly.

“What?” He whispered shakily, too stunned to acknowledge his father’s reply. Of all the answers he had been expecting, this certainly was _not_ it. He had expected his father to howl in laughter, slap him on the back and tell him he’s been working too hard.

“You’ve never told me a lie in your entire life, kid. There’s no reason for you to start now. How many times?” Jeralt asked, cursing Rhea internally for whatever she’d done to his family. First Sitri, and now Byleth. What more was there for her to take?

“…I lost count. Sometimes I never got to the end. I tried to save you. The first half I rewound time immediately after your death. It never worked. Afterwards, I tried saving my students at the Officer’s Academy. Sided with Leicester first, then Faerghus in an attempt to save the king. Empire to try and change their minds. With Rhea too,” Byleth spilled, thumbing the pages of the his notebook, fishing rod left lying on the ground. “Sothis said it was fate if I couldn’t save you,” He rambled on bitterly, looking at the recurring names of the ones who died in his previous lives.

He had jotted all of them down, every single ally that had died, and every single student he had killed. Byleth silently thanks the lilac-haired lord of the underworld, who pushed his old notebook to Byleth before mysteriously disappearing. Every time he rewound time, his Ashen Wolves were there to help. They were the only constant that spurred him on to find a way where everyone lived. They followed him with undying loyalty, staying by his side until all the wars ended. The former owner of the notebook had admitted more than once that they didn’t remember the professor who saved them from the shadows of the Abyss, but the notebook Byleth possessed was more than enough to convince them to his cause.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jeralt grunted as he pulled up a big catch, nearly slapping his son in the face in the process.

“Huh?” Byleth gaped, shocked. “You…want to help?” He asked hesitantly, watching Jeralt dump the large carp into the bucket of water behind them.

“‘Want to help?’ What kind of question is that?” Jeralt raised his eyebrows as he unceremoniously tossed the line back into the water. “Of course I want to help. Hell, what kind of father abandons his son when he needs it most?”

And finally, Jeralt can see some of Byleth’s carefully built walls begin to crumble in front of him, the hard determination in his blue-green eyes softening.

“Thanks for believing in me,” His son murmured, stowing away the leather-bound notebook with care, a hint of a smile gracing his features.

“No need to be sappy. We’re here for a well-deserved fishing trip,” Jeralt replied, waving away Byleth’s gratitude. A grin blossomed across his face as he reeled in another huge fish, throwing it into the bucket. “Whoever has the smaller fish pays the tab for the next tavern.”

Byleth silently hooked the bait to his abandoned rod and casted his line out again, deadpanning at Jeralt’s look of pure shock when he pulled up a fish twice as large as whatever he’s pulled up. “Tab’s on you.”

That night, when Jeralt enters his tent with considerably lighter pockets, he looked at the sleeping face of his son and swore upon every god that this is the last time Byleth ever needed to turn the hands of time.

**Author's Note:**

> just finished the dlc for ashen wolves and the one picture of jeralt and sitri together is so wholesome and touching I almost cried


End file.
